


Your eyes are red and they're mine

by twentyone



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, kissing on the stairs, nobody knows even half of it, paul to the rescue, pretty boy wanker #2, was supposed to be angst but something happened, zayn punches a guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 01:39:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twentyone/pseuds/twentyone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn is drowning in demons and doubts, Liam is drowning in Zayn, and just like this, they help each other breathe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your eyes are red and they're mine

**Author's Note:**

> so yeah this started and took a wrong left turn somewhere but i'm not too disappointed with the final outcome please enjoy

He’s watching television, some local American college football game, when his phone rings. The name ‘pretty boy wanker #2’, accompanied by Zayn’s face, lights up the screen. Liam smiles, a warm feeling settling in his stomach as he mutes the game to answer it.

“Yeah?” 

“Liam-“ There’s heavy breathing on the other end, and lots of background noise – shrieks, cursing, unintelligible shouting. And Zayn, of course, yelling into the phone so loudly that Liam has to hold it a few inches away from his ear. He assumes Zayn is calling from the club, half drunk, so he doesn’t attempt to move from his cozy cocoon of blankets on the couch. 

“That’s me,” he replies lightly, turning the volume on just loudly enough to hear the commentary alongside the phone call. 

“Liam, I need you to come here now – please, they’re everywhere, I don’t have much time-“

He bolts upright, blankets falling dejectedly to the floor. Something’s wrong. 

“Where are you?” Liam asks hurriedly, grabbing his wallet and keys and shoving his shoes on as fast as he can. He’s out the door as Zayn tells him,

“Club downtown on the corner of University and Michigan street – fuck, no, he’s not in here!” Zayn screams in an American accent and Liam realizes that he’s in trouble. It’s like an injection of ice water into every blood vessel in his body. Zayn needs help. Zayn is not okay. 

“I’m coming as fast as I can. Whatever you do, don’t go outside. I’ll come in and find you.”

“Okay – shit, I-“ There’s pounding on the other end before the line goes blank. Liam pushes his phone into his pocket and hurtles down the stairs two at a time, exploding out the back door into the parking lot. One of the band’s two hired black Jeeps is sitting in the far corner of the lot, Paul occupying the front seat with his legs propped up on the windshield. He barely reacts when Liam throws open the door and launches himself into the passenger seat. 

“We need to get Zayn. Corner of University and Michigan street.” 

Paul nods mutely and within seconds his legs are in place, he’s leaning out the open window maneuvering the car out of the lot and speeding down the lighted road to the hotel. Liam takes a deep breath, praying that Zayn isn’t getting torn apart by mad fans. He checks his phone – it’s 11:56. His leg jiggles uncontrollably and he tries to still himself.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Paul asks as he edges onto the highway, gunning the car to almost a hundred miles per hour. 

“No idea. He sounds like he’s in trouble, there was a lot of screaming and pounding,” Liam says, grinding his jaw. Paul nods shortly, mouth tightening into a thin line. His hands clench around the steering wheel and the speedometer reads 110. 

It’s 12:04 when Paul pulls up to the address Zayn told him, and Liam spots the club, blue and purple lights spilling out of the small door onto a patch of sidewalk. 

“Stay here,” Paul tells him as he gets out, but Liam refuses. 

“No, I’ll get him. Stall the car, we’re gonna need to make a quick exit.”

“Liam, no, you can’t just walk in there-“

But he’s already shoving his way past the short line of people waiting to get in, shoving past the bouncer and into the tiny, crowded club. The air is stuffy and smoky, and the lights flicker and flare so quickly that he sees everything in short flashes; one second he’s trying to squeeze between a couple and the next he’s being grinded against by a tiny girl with enormous breasts that bounce wildly against his chest. Liam pushes her away and pulls out his phone. He calls Zayn and attempts to move to the back wall. 

“Liam,” a hoarse voice breathes. “Walk to the back of the club. There’s a door on the left wall – fuck!” He can barely hear through the phone above the thumping of the music. A second voice is talking on Zayn’s end and Liam strains to hear as he moves towards the door Zayn told him to go to. He doesn’t understand what’s being said but then he hears Zayn say, “Mate, just leave me alone.” The second voice grows louder and Liam’s almost at the door. He’s turning the handle when Zayn yells, “You want to know what I have to say about that?”, and he pulls the door open on a small grimy yellow bathroom with a urinal and a toilet just in time to see Zayn bring his fist back and hurl it straight into the other man’s face. 

Liam can’t remember having a conscious thought for some time after that. He grabs Zayn, who resists frantically at first before realizing who it is grabbing him. Zayn’s eyes widen and his hand clamps around Liam’s wrist so tightly he’s afraid of losing circulation. 

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Liam speaks firmly into his ear as he guides Zayn out of the bathroom, shutting the door on the man who is now sprawled out across the dirty floor. Linked together, they begin to move through the tight throng of people in the packed club. 

“There he is!”

“Hey, isn’t that Zayn Malik?” someone says behind them, and Liam walks faster. The music pounds around them incessantly, and a bead of sweat slides down his temple.

“That’s Liam Payne, I swear! From One Direction!” 

“Liam! Zayn!”

The clamor grows but Liam doesn’t turn around, doesn’t acknowledge any of it, shakes off every hand that tries to grab him, and finally they collapse out onto the street, Liam’s arm still tight around Zayn’s neck. Paul runs out of the car to open the back door for them and ushers them quickly inside, just people begin to turn their heads towards them. He runs back around to the driver’s seat, slams the door, pops the lock, and the streets begin to rush past them. Zayn is trembling beside him, curled up on Liam’s shoulder, hands fisted into the front of Liam’s sweatshirt, clinging tightly. 

“That was close,” Paul mutters from up front, the only sound in the silent car aside from Zayn’s still-heavy breathing. No one speaks during the ten minutes it takes to get back to the hotel. Paul drops them off at the back door without asking any questions, and Liam’s grateful for that much. Although he does say, “Try not to let this happen again,” and gives them a paternal stare. They nod mutely, and Liam helps Zayn out of the car. The back door opens to the fire escape stairs. They make it to the third floor before Zayn collapses onto the carpeted steps, panting. 

“Liam,” he croaks, shifting so that he’s sitting on the stairs, leaning against the dull beige wall. “Sit.” Zayn pats the space on the stair beside him, and Liam obliges. His heart stopped hammering like a jackrabbit after Zayn was safely in the car but it starts again when Zayn takes one of his hands between his own and clutches onto it fiercely. Both of his hands are shaking, Liam notices. A sudden sob rips out of Zayn’s throat without warning and he’s crying in short hysterical breaths, entire body convulsing against Liam. 

He’s seen Zayn cry but never like this, like he’s being consumed by the pain from the inside out and there’s nothing Liam can do to prevent it. He’s seen Zayn at his best and at his very worst but he’s never seen Zayn this helpless, this vulnerable. 

“Hey,” Liam says quietly, wrapping an arm around Zayn’s trembling frame, all sharp shoulders and skinny arms and narrow torso. Zayn buries his face into the crook of Liam’s neck, his cries muffling slightly. His breath is hot and wet on Liam’s skin and he brings Zayn closer to him, lets him dampen Liam’s shirt with his tears. He rests his chin on the top of Zayn’s head, his messy hair a convenient pillow. 

After a few minutes Zayn begins to quiet down, hiccoughing softly and lifting the hem of Liam’s shirt to wipe his eyes. His fingers brush Liam’s bare stomach and he pretends not to notice the burning trace they leave. He mutters something unintelligible into Liam’s shoulder, lips forming words against his skin. 

“What?” Liam prods him gently, using two fingers to tilt Zayn’s chin ever so slightly so that he’s looking up at Liam with red eyes. 

“I punched him,” Zayn says softly, voice raspy from crying. “I’ve never done that to anybody before.” 

“What did he do to you?” Liam asks, rubbing small circles in Zayn’s back. Zayn’s brow furrows and he shrugs. 

“The same thing that everyone does to me – to us. Cornered me in the bathroom, started asking me things, threatened me…drunk out of his mind, he was. But so was I…I don’t know, he wouldn’t get out of the room and he wouldn’t let me get out either, and he started saying awful things about the band and how we think – how we think we’re better than everyone, how we’re gonna die out and in five years no one will remember One Direction – Liam, I just got so pissed, I couldn’t help it, and it wasn’t just him, it’s every single person who says this stuff, I just wanna let them fucking have it! It’s easy enough to pretend in interviews and out in public during the day, convince people that they think they know everything about us, but this was just me and him in a small room and the way he was talking, thinking he had the right to say those thing, I just had to, I just h-had to…” Zayn trails off and sniffs loudly, blinking tears out of his eyes. 

Liam wants to hold him like this forever, until Zayn is whole again, until he’s no longer plagued by the dark monsters of doubt and hate that haunt him by night and in club bathrooms and whenever he’s alone and confused and scared. He tries to think of something to say to comfort him but Zayn keeps talking.

“I just don’t understand what they all want from me. Why they treat me like I’m special or different, or…I don’t know. I’m just Zayn at the end of the day, I’m not some superhero or-or god, or something, I’m just…Zayn.” 

Liam knows how he feels. They all feel like this occasionally, but he suspects that Zayn feels it more acutely than any of the rest of them. The feeling of disconnect between themselves and the rest of the world, simply because the rest of the world has put them on a pedestal and treats them like – well, yeah, like they’re different. When in reality, they’re just Louis, and Niall, and Harry, and Liam, and Zayn. 

“’Just Zayn’ is a bloody fantastic person to be,” Liam says suddenly, sitting up straight and holding Zayn by the shoulders so that they’re staring straight into each other. Zayn looks drunk and tired and distressed, red eyes and purple shadows beneath them, lips cracked, chin and cheeks stubbly and rough. He probably won’t remember half of this in the morning, Liam knows, but it doesn’t matter. 

“What do you-“

“You’re thoughtful and you know how to listen. You love your family and you take care of them. Not just your family - family, but us, too – Niall and Louis and Harry, and me – you’re so much more than ‘just Zayn’ to us. To me. You’re more than my best friend and I don’t care what the rest of the world thinks about you because it will never even come close to how much you mean to me. They know One Direction but they don’t know us –“ 

“Liam.” Zayn breathes his name like a prayer. Liam brings his hand to Zayn’s chest, feels Zayn’s heart thudding against his ribs, lets Zayn feel Liam’s hand against him. 

“They can think whatever they want about you,” Liam continues quietly. Zayn leans forwards to catch his words, eyes never leaving Liam’s. “You can be a superhero or a god to them, you can be anything for them, but if between us you’re just Zayn – well, that’s more than enough for me,” he finishes, fingers splaying across Zayn’s chest as if to reach inside of him and take his heart out for safekeeping in times like this, when the weight on Zayn’s shoulders threatens to swallow and drown him. 

“They can think they know everything about us, ” Zayn says after a moment voice thick and rough. He pushes himself halfway off the stairs and moves one knee over Liam’s body, trapping him between Zayn’s legs. Liam’s hand is still clenched in the material of Zayn’s t-shirt as he hovers above him. Zayn’s pupils are wide and the whites of his eyes are red as he leans down to press his lips to Liam’s forehead, then each of his eyebrows in turn, then the tip of his nose, until they’re at eye-level with each other and there’s barely a breath between them. He doesn’t move when Zayn cradles his face in his cold hands, one palm pressed at the juncture of his jaw and ear, fingers along his hairline, the other hand cupping his chin upwards. Zayn closes his eyes as he tips his head to the side slightly and kisses Liam, lips lingering on lips for a long moment. 

“They don’t know even half of it,” Liam murmurs against Zayn, and he feels Zayn’s smile. He pokes his tongue out and traces the perimeter of Zayn’s mouth before bringing his free hand to the back of Zayn’s head and slipping his tongue between his parted lips. They kiss slowly, languorously, Zayn’s hands scratching up Liam’s back and gripping his shoulders. 

Zayn runs out of breath first, pulling back gasping for air. His lips are swollen and he looks half-wild in the fluorescent stairwell lighting, eyes glazed over with lust and settled fury. Liam’s heart swells with the beauty of him, and fuck the rest of the world, they can think whatever they want to, but just Zayn in this moment belongs to him.


End file.
